Unholy Alliance
by Laura Schiller
Summary: How did Niles and CC really feel after he rejected her in "From Flushing With Love"?


Unholy Alliance

By Laura Schiller

Based on: The Nanny

"Morning, you guys!" Miss Fine chirped, trying a little too hard for her usual carefree manner as she entered the kitchen in her lavender bathrobe. Niles and CC, heads bent over the Comics page in the newspaper, ignored her. It had been three days since Miss Fine had stolen Niles' vacation time from under his nose, and joining forces with her worst enemy was, he had to admit, an ingenious form of punishment.

"Ooh, what's so funny? Can I see?"

Miss Fine leaned in between them, one hand on each of their shoulders. Niles and CC, their timing perfected by years of sparring together, reached up in silent unison to pick off Miss Fine's hands. They walked away in opposite directions, leaving her alone with the newspaper. Back in the corridor, Niles peeked through the kitchen door to see how Miss Fine was taking it. He expected her to scowl, perhaps shred the newspaper. He did not expect her to bury her head in her arms and cry.

She had not cried over the cut-up lipstick, the yoghurt in her shoes or the carrot instead of carrot cake – but to be ignored was evidently too much for her.

Through the crack in the door, Niles caught a glimpse of CC at the opposite door. For a moment, he could have sworn that his remorse was mirrored in his ally's face – but as soon as she saw him, she smirked and showed him a thumbs-up. Niles turned his back on her and headed for the cleaning cupboard. It was clear to him what he should do.

/

"Well! If it isn't _I Love Loosely_!" said CC, snorting at the sight of Miss Fine's tight beige dress as the nanny walked past her into Maxwell's office. Without even checking for Miss Fine's reaction, CC beamed at Niles and held up her hand for a high-five.

_Whatever's loose about her, it's not that outfit – is it, Cee? _The zinger (and the endearment) formed automatically in Niles' brain, and it took a concentrated effort to hold it back. Not because of any lingering malice toward Miss Fine, whom he had wholeheartedly forgiven, but because … he wasn't actually sure.

"Come on, bud," said CC, still jovial, but with an edge of uncertainty to her voice. "Now you've got to come up with something really vile!"

He thought of Miss Fine sobbing at the kitchen table. He thought of CC's unholy glee at the prospect of tormenting a woman who'd never done her any harm (after all, CC's chances with Maxwell had been zero to begin with). Then he thought of sharing that bowl of yoghurt with CC, laughing over _Garfield_, clearing out the dishwasher together … he still had that ceramic box he'd made for her. Would she ever accept it now?

_Come up with something really vile, eh?_

"I would," he deadpanned, "But I can't lift you."

"Ooh, that was … for me?" All the laughter drained out of CC's face in an instant as she took in Niles' words. Her eyes widened; her mouth fell open; her whole body froze like a marble statue. For someone who worked in theatre, CC Babcock was a terrible actress. And for someone who'd only been using him to annoy Miss Fine, the hurt in her blue eyes was shockingly genuine.

"It was what it was," he told her, with unsual restraint. "And now it's over."

He suppressed a most inconvenient urge to apologize as he left the room.

/

CC stumbled out of Maxwell's office in a daze, barely noticing what she was saying; something about computers. Niles was the only one she'd trusted with her private e-mail address (besides Maxwell, of course, but as her business partner, he always used the company address). Niles was the only one who wrote to her – witty little gems that made her laugh even in the middle of a revenue slump. He would never write to her again.

She had always hated that butler, but today she loathed him at a level beyond words. This was almost worse than the night he'd kissed her (technically they had kissed each other, but selective memory had always been CC's talent) after that ridiculous chicken prank. She could still kick herself for that night. But today – didn't Niles know how abominably lonely her life was? Wasn't he always rubbing her nose in it?

She would _miss_ their alliance, she realized. How pathetic could she get?

"Miss Babcock?"

She whirled around and glared at Niles, who had followed her down the hall.

"Miss Babock … I'd rather not have this cluttering up my room. A sale is a sale, after all."

He took a little blue pot, cylindrical and obviously handmade, out of his suit pocket and held it out to her. The initials _CCB_ were painted on it in white cursive. The blue was exactly the shade of her eyes. After finding out that he took lessons in pottery in his spare time, she had commissioned him for a new pot to keep her rouge in, paying him half in advance. The resukt was a better-shaped, more elegant piece than any of the others he'd shown her.

She dropped the money onto a nearby table, took the pot, and smashed it at Niles' feet. He jumped back, caught off guard for once in his life.

"There, something to sweep. You live for that, don't you?"

For once, she left him speechless as she walked away.

/

Three days later, she found the pot in her mailbox in the lobby of her apartment, the broken halves neatly mended with Superglue. She glanced left and right to make sure no one saw her, slipped it onto her pocket, then darted for the elevator with a childish fear of getting caught. If one of her bitchy neighbors asked where the thing came from, and she had to admit it was a personal gift from her co-worker's butler, she'd never live it down. Still, there was no way she would let it go this time.

That same night, her computer greeted her with a cheery _You've Got Mail_. Aside from the business correspondence, an e-mail had arrived at her private address. It read:

_To: i_heart_rochester_

_From: riskybusiness_

_Subject: Armistice_

_Dear Miss Babcock, _

_Since this silence between us is far more irritating than anything you might say (I cannot believe I am writing this!), I have decided to try and mend matters as best I can. _

_I apologize for any distress I might have caused you by ending the Alliance. To be quite frank, it was nothing personal. I simply feel that no friendship should be built on the exclusion of a third party. The next time you and I walk the same path (if there is a next time; don't hold your breath), I hope it will be for better reasons._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Niles__ Brightmore_

_P. S.: Have you forgotten that the dark, brooding Englishman you refer to in your screen name is famous for marrying his daughter's governess, in modern terms a nanny? Also, "Rochester" happens to be the brand name of a certain cleaning product … and one of your favorite slurs for me._

/

_To: riskybusiness_

_From: clairedelune_

_Subject: Re: Armistice_

_Dear Dustbuster,_

_If you tell anyone about my former screen name, I. Will. End. You. And you know what I keep in that pot of yours? My Q-Tips. It's the perfect present from a man who leaves earwax all over the intercom. _

_Yours sincerely,_

_CC Babcock_

_P. S.: Thanks. _

/

The next day, Fran Fine reeled back in her high heels at the appalling spectacle before her: Niles and Miss Babcock, companionably sipping tea and watching _Ugly Betty._ The wail she emitted might possibly have reached all the way to Flushing.

_"Ny-ules! _What'd I do now? If this is about tapin' over _American Idol,_ I swear it was an accident!"

Niles looked up at her with a smile of complete contentment. "Nothing, dear Miss Fine. Nothing at all. Have a biscuit, won't you, before this bottomless pit next to me devours them all?"

"Speak for yourself, Butterball," Miss Babcock retorted, patting Niles' stomach in a proprietary way. They grinned, toasted each other with their teacups, and went back to watching the show.

Fran glanced from one to the other like a tennis player, shrugged, plumped herself down on Niles' other side and took charge of the cookie bowl.

"Aw, okay," she muttered. "If it works for them ... oy, is that double chocolate chip?"


End file.
